


Splits A Family In Two

by mysticanni



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Car Accidents, Childhood Memories, Domestic Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Injury, Loss of Parent(s), M/M, Misunderstandings, Past Domestic Violence, Repressed Memories, Separations, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:09:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27495481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticanni/pseuds/mysticanni
Summary: Freddie thinks Roger is acting strangely.And the heating is broken.
Relationships: Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor
Comments: 60
Kudos: 33
Collections: The Froger Week 2020





	1. The Heating Is Broken

**Author's Note:**

> One chapter for each day of Froger Week  
> Chapter One - The Heating Is Broken  
> Chapter Two - Kid Fic - warnings for domestic violence, injury, hospitalization  
> Chapter Three - Car Accident  
> Chapter Four - Amnesia
> 
> I'm afraid it is much darker than I thought it would be. I promise it has a happy ending though!

“You should make an appointment to get your ears cleared out, darling,” Freddie laughed when Roger entered, shivering.

“Why’s it so cold in here?” Roger mumbled, his words muffled by his long woollen scarf. “There’s nothing wrong with my hearing,” he added. 

“Perhaps your ears were too well wrapped up,” Freddie suggested, “I was calling to you when I saw you leave the market. Everyone was staring at me but you didn’t turn around at all!”

“Kensington market?” Roger queried. “I haven’t been near there today. It must have been someone else, Fred.”

Freddie frowned. “It was your double, then, dear,” he said. “The heating seems to be on the blink,” he added in response to Roger’s earlier question. 

Roger looked suitably horrified. “No heating?” he bleated. 

Freddie shook his head. “I’ve called the landlord and he said someone will come and look at it on Friday.”

“But it’s only Tuesday!” Roger exclaimed. “Friday’s bloody ages away!”

“It’s the soonest they can manage, darling,” Freddie sighed. “We’re usually out through the day, at least.”

“We’ll just need to fill hot water bottles and cuddle up in bed in the evenings,” Roger said, sounding slightly more enthusiastic. 

*

It was the getting out of bed in the morning that was hardest, Freddie thought. There was a thin layer of ice on the windowsill in the bathroom. At least there was still hot water to wash with.

In the kitchen Roger had both hands curled around a mug of tea and had a blanket over his shoulders. He nodded towards the other mug sitting on the table. “Made you a cuppa,” he mumbled. Roger was never at his best in the morning. Freddie thanked him and kissed his cheek.

They both spent the morning at their market stall. Business was slow but the building housing the market stalls was well heated and it was warmer than their flat. Freddie was grateful that they were not outside. To be frozen at work then freeze at home would be too much.

Roger had classes in the afternoon. He checked no one was watching then kissed Freddie goodbye as he left.

Typically, once Freddie was alone there seemed to be an influx of potential customers seeking shelter from sleety rain. Freddie made several sales. Looking up as he bid farewell to one customer he thought he spied Roger’s bright hair in the crowded corridor. Perhaps his lecture had been cancelled? Then he realised that the person who had caught his eye was wearing a red jacket. Roger had been wearing blue when he left.

“You have a double, darling,” Freddie told Roger, gathering him into his arms as they made themselves comfortable in bed under a mound of blankets and coats, curling around hot water bottles in knitted covers. “I saw someone who looked exactly like you at the market today.”

Roger mumbled something indistinct. Freddie thought it sounded like, “Not in London,” which seemed an odd thing to say. Then Roger rested his head on Freddie’s chest and said, “There is only one of me,” firmly.

“Yes, darling,” Freddie pressed his lips against Roger’s. “You’re unique, just like everyone else!” 

*

A hail shower battering off the window-pane awakened them on Thursday. They only had to survive one more day without heating, Roger reminded himself as he snuggled further under the covers, reluctant to get out of their warm bed. 

He thought uneasily of the person Freddie kept seeing who looked like him. It must be a coincidence, surely? Freddie muttered something unintelligible in his sleep and stirred in Roger’s arm. “I love you,” Roger whispered to him, stroking his silky dark hair.

*

He had classes in the morning and parted company with Freddie at the tube station. There were too many people around to risk a kiss so he surreptitiously squeezed Freddie’s hand and told him he would see him later.

He thought he heard someone call his name as he stepped on to the tube. Twisting in the crowd he glimpsed blue eyes like his own staring through the glass.

But it couldn’t be.

*

Freddie thought he saw Roger’s bright hair shining under the lights in the corridor of the market building again. He frowned. Was Roger checking up on him? It didn’t seem like something Roger would do but other than Roger having a double he couldn’t think of another explanation. If Roger did have a double why had they never seen him before? He might have moved here recently, of course. It wasn’t just the way the person looked – they also seemed to move like Roger, stand like Roger. It was unsettling - uncanny. 

*

They always had dinner at Freddie’s parents on a Thursday night which was blissfully warm and cosy. “You should have come and stayed with us!” Freddie’s mother exclaimed, horrified to hear they had not had any heating for most of the week.

“Hopefully it’ll be fixed tomorrow,” Freddie said. He watched as Roger laughed and joked with his sister and cheerfully greeted his father. Sometimes he thought Roger was more at ease with his family than he was. 

Roger had been raised by an elderly aunt who had died around a year ago. Freddie had never met her. Roger had told Freddie once that he envied him his family life. When he was finding his family particularly exasperating Freddie reminded himself of that. 

Freddie realised that Roger had never talked much about his childhood, although why would he, really? Freddie mentioned his all the time but he supposed that was different as they regularly saw his family. He looked at Roger across the table. He thought Roger seemed worried about something. On the surface he was his usual happy self but Freddie thought there was a little undercurrent of unease.

He brought this up later as they cocooned themselves in bed in their cold flat. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes,” Roger sounded surprised, “why wouldn’t it be?”

“You seem like you have something on your mind,” Freddie told him. 

“I’m just hoping the heating gets fixed tomorrow,” Roger laughed, “much as I love cuddling you!”

*

The workman made a disapproving sound as he surveyed the radiators in the flat. “Very old,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Good make, right enough. They don’t make them like this anymore.”

His accomplice, who looked like he was playing truant from school in Freddie’s opinion, was dispatched to the van to fetch something as the workman began to dismantle the radiator in the main room. Once the boy returned carrying a toolbox and a rattling cardboard box Freddie offered to make tea for them.

They ate all of the remaining biscuits with their tea and Freddie hoped Roger wouldn’t be too upset about that. They did manage to get the heating working again without too much fuss so Freddie thought Roger would be over the moon about that aspect of things. If the takings from the stall that afternoon allowed he would buy a new packet of biscuits, he decided, to celebrate.

Roger had classes all day on a Friday so Freddie would be at the stall on his own in the afternoon and they had shut it for that morning so Freddie could wait in for the workmen. If he sold enough perhaps they could stretch to fish and chips for tea. After all, they must have saved some money while the heating was broken. 

*

Roger was in the corridor outside the flat when Freddie arrived home with the fish and chips and a shopping bag containing milk, bread, tea, cigarettes and biscuits – the essentials. “Have you forgotten your key, love? I sold that hideously ugly mustard coloured jacket for a fortune so I got us fish and chips to celebrate. Here,” he thrust the bag and newspaper wrapped fish and chip packages at Roger who took them, looking slightly dazed, “I’ll just get my key. Is something wrong, darling?”

As Freddie pressed his lips against Roger’s he realised that there was indeed something wrong. 

This wasn’t Roger.

He drew back from not-Roger just as Roger’s voice said, “What are you doing?” behind him.


	2. Kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry - this is a sad chapter.
> 
> Warnings for domestic violence, serious injury, death and hospitalisation. 
> 
> Also, I'm afraid Freddie isn't in this chapter very much.
> 
> If you need to skip this one you should still be able to follow the story, I think.
> 
> And I promise it has a happy ending!

Chapter Two - Kid

"Roger?" Freddie sounded worried and looked confused.

Roger stared at the scuffed linoleum on the floor of the corridor so he didn't have to look at Freddie or...him. He wasn't ready for that. He had never expected this.

Roger was four again and his daddy was shouting at his mummy and then lunged towards her.

This was nothing new, of course. 

Roger’s mother was trying to push him behind her. Roger was trying to get between them to protect his mother.

Even aged four he was aware that his mother needed to be protected from his father’s rages. 

His father swatted him out of the way, almost casually. His mother’s shriek sounded far away – muted. His head hurt. He had slammed into the wall and slid down it. He could see his father slapping his mother but the sight was mercifully blurred by his tears. Roger lay quietly where he had fallen and tried not to cry too noisily. He had discovered it was best not to attract his father’s attention when he was in this kind of mood.

His mother fell silent. His father was silent too for a moment and then swore. “Fuck,” he said. “Oh, fuck,” he repeated. He ran both hands through his already messy hair.

Roger’s head hurt. He closed his eyes.

*

When Roger opened his eyes again he was in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar room. Everything seemed blindingly white. He blinked. “Hullo, sweetheart,” an unfamiliar voice greeted him. A woman with dark hair in a neat bun peered down at him. “I’ll get you some water.”

Roger realised he was thirsty. He thanked the lady. She asked for his name and he told her. His voice sounded odd to his own ears. He asked where his mother was. The woman asked if he was hungry. Roger had been hungry but the woman’s refusal to answer his question about the whereabouts of his mother caused his stomach to tie itself into a tight knot and he didn’t think he would be able to eat anything. 

The woman was a nurse, she said and Roger was in a hospital. “You hit your head,” she told him.

Roger asked again where his mother was. The nurse smiled but she looked sad, like his mother did sometimes when she thought Roger wasn’t looking at her. She left the room and Roger hoped that when she came back his mother would be with her but instead she returned with an unfamiliar man.

The man was wearing a rumpled suit and looked tired. He sat in the visitor’s chair next to the bed. “Hey, Roger,” he said, “how’d you feel?”

Roger stared at him. He asked again where his mother was. Perhaps this stranger would know. And everyone else seemed to answer a question with a question of their own. 

“Your mother died, son,” the man said, adding, “I’m sorry.” He sounded like he was. 

Roger nodded. “She hit her head,” he told the man, “and blood came out.”

“Did she fall?” the man asked softly. 

Roger shook his head and explained that his father had hit her.

“Did he hit you, too?” the man asked and Roger had agreed that he had. 

Roger asked where his father was and felt a mix of relief and sorrow when the man said they didn’t know.

*

Great-aunt Ethel had arrived the next day and Roger had gone home with her. His teddy bear and his clothes appeared over the next few days in her house.

Great-aunt Ethel’s house was polished wood and ticking clocks and an elderly dog called Basil who patiently allowed Roger to give him enthusiastic hugs and bury his face in his fur. Basil dozed in front of the log fires they had in winter and Great-aunt Ethel knitted by the fire while Roger completed jigsaw puzzles or tried magic tricks or read books.

Great-aunt Ethel’s house was one of quietness and calm and order and safety when Roger first arrived as a bewildered child. There was no shouting or screaming or violence which was a relief. 

And gradually, eventually Roger introduced laughter and squeals of delight and, later, drum-beats when one of his tutors suggested a musical instrument.

Mr Beach came every morning to give Roger lessons. He taught Roger how to read and write and about history and geography. On three weekday afternoons Mr May came to teach Roger about numbers and science and Mr May also taught him how to play great-aunt Ethel’s piano. They were both much younger than great-aunt Ethel but still seemed old to Roger.

It was Mr May who suggested adding another instrument – recommending drums as a way for Roger to release some of what Mr Beach called his reserves of energy. 

On afternoons when Mr May was not teaching him Roger played with Basil in the garden. Great-aunt Ethel also had a gardener, Mr Fitzgerald, and he taught Roger the names of plants and flowers and trees, giving Roger his own little patch of earth to grow things in. 

Books and television programmes (on the rare occasions he was allowed to watch great-aunt Ethel’s black and white set) showed Roger there was a world outside where children went to school and played with each other. Roger sometimes wondered what that would be like. When he got older great-aunt Ethel gave him a radio for his room which Roger loved. Having voices talking to him and sharing music with him felt almost like having a friend at times.

He did see other children at the Sunday school group he attended while great-aunt Ethel went to church and they were friendly enough but he knew they thought he was odd because they all knew each other from school and Roger was different – other – because he didn’t go to school.

Sometimes ladies great-aunt Ethel knew from church came to visit in the afternoons and would sit drinking tea and eating cake, chatting. If Roger was quiet they sometimes forgot he was in the room. Usually their conversation was not all that interesting but occasionally he heard them mention his mother and he liked hearing about her. The ladies all sighed when they mentioned her, however, which he didn’t like so much. They almost always noted that she had died too young. 

One day, one of the ladies asked great-aunt Ethel about Roger’s father. “They never did find him, did they?” she asked. 

“No,” great-aunt Ethel agreed, “he had gone and taken the others with him.”

She sounded very sad and although this type of conversational opening usually led to a mention of his mother Roger wished today that they would move on to talk about something else as he didn’t want great-aunt Ethel to sound so unhappy. He was slightly astonished when they mentioned him. “Does Roger remember, do you think?” one of them wondered. 

“He doesn’t seem to,” great-aunt Ethel said, “which I think is a blessing.” She sighed, which worried Roger a little as great-aunt Ethel did not normally sigh, not even when she mentioned his mother. “I sometimes wonder if I made the right decision not sending him to school but I wanted to keep him close, you see...”

The ladies all made murmured noises of agreement indicating that they saw perfectly but Roger did not see. See what? And what was it a blessing that he didn’t remember? What had he forgotten?

The others, great-aunt Ethel had said. Roger had a vague memory of a baby crying and of looking in the mirror and seeing a pair of blue eyes like his own but they had not belonged to him.

And suddenly he was back in the corridor again outside the flat he shared with Freddie. Looking up he met Freddie’s eyes – warm and full of concern – and Roger wondered how long he had been lost in his memories – drowning in them. Then his eyes found the eyes that looked so like his own. The eyes that belonged to...


	3. Car Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of domestic violence, death, hospitalisation and a car accident - nothing really graphic.

Chapter Three – Car Accident

“Reggie,” Roger said.

He watched as Freddie unlocked the door of the flat, apparently shaken out of his shocked numbness when Roger spoke. Once the door was open, Freddie snatched the fish and chip packages and the bag of shopping back from Reggie as if he was worried that Reggie might steal those just as he had stolen the kiss Freddie had clearly intended to be Roger’s.

Once Reggie’s hands were free he gave Roger an awkward little wave. “Present and correct,” he said, his voice an American drawl that Roger found slightly shocking emanating from a mouth that looked so like his own. “Uh...” he gestured towards the open door of the flat, “sorry about that,” he muttered. 

Present, Roger thought, but perhaps not entirely correct. He gestured towards the door himself. “Please,” he said politely and allowed Reggie to precede him into the flat.

Freddie was distributing the fish and chips between three plates and had put the kettle on. Roger gestured to the table. “Have a seat,” he invited Reggie who looked as if he might say something then obediently and silently slid onto a chair. “Freddie, this is my twin brother, Reginald - Reggie. Reggie, this is Freddie.” He had almost added ‘my partner’. Reggie already knew from Freddie’s kiss that they were in a socially and - until recently- legally disapproved of relationship but Roger reminded himself that while Reggie was family he was also a stranger. ”You’ve been following me?” he suggested to Reggie.

Reggie nodded. He flushed a little. “I’m sorry,” he offered. “I didn’t mean to spy on you, I just...I wasn’t very sure how to introduce myself.”

Roger snorted. “Almost any way other than kissing Freddie would have been preferable, thanks.”

Reggie’s flush intensified. “I am so sorry about that,” he gabbled, “I...Sorry, I wasn’t expecting...”

“Yes, well,” Freddie set plates of fish and chips in front of them, “that’ll teach me to kiss in the corridor.” His voice was tight, tense. “How do you take your tea, Reggie?”

“Uh...I’m not much of a tea drinker,” Reggie mumbled. 

“Ah,” Freddie glanced at Roger, looking slightly panicky.

“It’s all we have so you’ll just have to have water instead,” Roger told Reggie, slightly amused by the speed with which Reggie hastened to assure them that water was fine. 

They ate in silence. Freddie had put the heater on and Roger was pleased that the heating had been fixed. He rose to gather their plates together once everyone had finished. Freddie looked between him and Reggie. “You know, it’s quite remarkable. Despite you wearing different clothes I’m still finding it hard to tell you apart until I hear one of you speak.”

“Yeah,” Roger muttered, “where’ve you been, Reg? What accent is that?”

“We moved around a bit at first,” Reggie said, “but then settled in Seattle.”

“And what brought you here now?” Roger wondered.

Reggie shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I...uh...I...There’s no easy way to tell you this but...uh...Dad died.”

Roger was surprised by the rush of emotions he felt. He had not seen the man since he was four. His last memory of his father was of him leaving after he’d killed Roger’s mother – their mother. And yet, apparently he did feel something for him or at least something for the loss of him. “How?” he asked.

“Mouth cancer,” Reggie replied, “he hadn’t been to a dentist in years and he smoked and...” He sighed.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Roger said mechanically. 

“It’s your loss too,” Reggie pointed out.

Roger shrugged. “I lost him a long time ago. Thank you for coming to tell me, though.”

“I...He had told us that...It was only on his death bed that we found out that you were still alive,” Reggie said in a rush. He looked hopefully at Roger. “He didn’t mention Mum?”

Oh. “What did he say about me?” Roger asked carefully, placing the dirty dishes in the sink and resuming his seat at the table, curling his hands around his mug of tea.

“He asked us to find you and tell you he was sorry,” Reggie explained. “He just...After we left he just didn’t talk about you or Mum.”

Roger sighed. Freddie placed his hand on Roger’s forearm. “Who is ‘us’?” Freddie wondered. 

“Me and my – our – sister Clare,” Reggie told him.

Roger took a sip of tea. “He left because...” He glanced at Freddie. “Dad used to hit mum. One day, when I was four, he was angry with her. I got in the way and he hit me too. I lost consciousness. When I woke up in hospital he’d gone and mum was dead.” His eyes met Reggie’s – so like his own. Reggie looked shocked. “I went to stay with great-aunt Ethel. And I think I kind of blocked what had happened and dad and you and Clare from my mind. I didn’t really remember you until years later.”

“What jogged your memory?” Freddie asked gently. He stood and padded over to Roger so he could give him a hug which was slightly awkward as Roger was still seated. Roger pressed against Freddie, finding the reassuring presence and solidity of him comforting. 

Roger glanced up at Freddie. “Occasionally I had flashes of memory – me and Reggie standing next to each other looking in a mirror – me sitting on our parents’ bed holding Clare when she was a baby. I always kind of shut down those lines of thought though. I dunno, maybe I wasn’t ready to face it all.” He sighed. “Then, when I was sixteen, I was in a car accident...”

Roger had formed a band with a couple of the guys he’d kept in touch with from the Sunday school group. They managed to secure a few gigs during the school holidays. The lead guitarist was old enough to have left school and started to work for the carpet business his parents ran and was able to borrow their van to transport the band to the various towns they were playing in.

It was on the way back from a gig, late at night in thick fog that the van crashed into a deer as it bounded across the road. Roger went flying straight through the windscreen but he had no memory of that.

He had woken up in hospital. “It was a bit like when I was four when I found myself in a hospital bed with no idea how I got there,” he explained to Freddie and Reggie. “I hadn’t damaged myself too much physically – they had to take glass out of some fairly minor cuts I received and I was a bit bruised but I didn’t break any bones or anything. I had hit my head though and when I regained consciousness I couldn’t remember anything.”


	4. Amnesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of past domestic violence and death

Chapter Four - Amnesia

Freddie deposited a kiss on the top of Roger’s head and then went to the kitchen, returning with a bottle of wine and three glasses. He poured them each a glass. “Could you remember anything at all dear?” he asked Roger. He moved his chair so he was sitting close enough to Roger to put his arm around him.

Roger shook his head. “I didn’t even know my own name. It was scary but also quite liberating. If you’re not anyone you could be anyone, y’know?”

Reggie grinned. “Not really, no,” he said, laughing as Roger glared at him. “Sorry, do go on.”

“There was a certain kind of freedom in it,” Roger repeated, “and the fear was mainly that I’d turn out to not be a very nice person or that no one would have missed me or would want me.”

“Oh, darling,” Freddie murmured, clasping Roger’s hand and squeezing it.

“My great-aunt came to claim me,” Roger told them, taking a slug of wine. “And she told me who I was and who she was but I still didn’t remember anything. It was weird. I kept waiting for something to jog my memory – I thought when I saw the house, then when I saw my room...Nothing.”

“Could you remember things like whether you liked tea or not or what you usually had for breakfast?” Reggie wondered. 

Roger shook his head. “It was like learning my preferences all over again. I discovered I liked tea but not coffee and I preferred toast to porridge. It was both fascinating and frustrating. Aunt Ethel said I could swim so I went to the pool with one of my tutors to see if I could remember how to and found that I could. I could ride a bike too although I had no memory of ever having been on a bike before. It was all very strange.”

Roger told them he’d had nightmares – waking screaming after dreams of violence and blood. There had been other dreams too where Roger had been desperately searching for something - awakening with a crushing sense of loss – gripped by almost overwhelming sadness.

“I was told my memories may never come back,” Roger said softly. “By then, I’d been re-introduced to everyone in my life at that point and it didn’t seem such a bad thing if I couldn’t remember them from before. My tutors both found it interesting. I could read and write and Mr May took it upon himself to find out if I could still solve certain mathematical problems.”

“But at some point you remembered,” Reggie noted softly. 

Roger nodded. He sipped his wine again. “I remembered more than I’d bargained for.”

They had been studying constellations and Mr May had opened a glossy book which had an illustration of a stylised drawing of twins supposed to represent the constellation of Gemini. 

Roger had fainted. 

He had come to in the recovery position on the floor, inhaling the familiar scent of the house and hearing its reassuring noises – floor polish, the trace of lavender perfume his great-aunt wore, the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece, the creak of a floorboard. His tutor said his name, sounding anxious.

Roger sat up slowly. His tutor knelt next to him and curved his arm around Roger’s shoulders. Roger leaned against him – finding his solid familiar presence also reassuring. “I remember,” he had mumbled. “I remember everything.”

Great-aunt Ethel had realised immediately that when Roger said he remembered everything he meant that he remembered the long-ago deeply buried things his mind had previously been protecting him from. She gently steered Roger into the sitting room and settled him in a chair near the fire with a glass of brandy. “Tell me what you remember, my dear,” she had urged. 

And Roger had told her what he recalled from before he had come to live with her – before, when he had been one of a pair – part of a set – a double act – before, when he had been whole – when there had been nothing - no one – missing. 

He looked at Reggie now. “And she told me that our father had taken you and Clare and vanished. She had never been able to find out what happened to you. At first she was scared that he would come back and take me, too, which is partly why she had me home-schooled.”

“We went abroad,” Reggie said. “France, at first, I think. Clare was too little to know what was happening but she cried a lot – she knew she wasn’t at home and she knew mum wasn’t there. I kept asking when you and mum were going to join us until a smack in the mouth taught me to shut up. We kept moving on at first. We moved through different areas of France. Dad would take whatever job he could find – dish-washing at a restaurant or fetching and carrying on a building site – and we’d stay for a maximum of a month then move on. We moved south. The weather got hotter. We crossed into Spain and kept moving on. Then one day we got on a plane and went to Boston. The same pattern followed – we’d move around – although the timescales increased. We’d stay for a few months, then one year, two years and eventually we arrived in Seattle and just stayed there.” He shrugged. “I didn’t exactly forget you but I learned early on it was best not to ask about you or mum. Dad told everyone our mother was dead so I...Well...”

Freddie poured everyone more wine. “You poor dears,” he murmured. As he re-filled Reggie’s glass he hesitated for a moment then gently clasped Reggie’s shoulder. Reggie tilted his head awkwardly and smiled at him.

“Is Clare with you?” Roger asked Reggie eagerly. 

Reggie nodded. “I haven’t told her that I’ve found you,” he muttered, “I wanted to see you myself first. She’d be cross with me if she knew I’d been...following...you.”

Roger glanced at Freddie. “I can’t see any need for us to mention that,” he said.

Freddie shook his head. “No need for her to know that,” he agreed. 

Reggie looked relieved. “She’ll be so pleased to meet you,” he said. “As I’m sure you can imagine what dad said when he was dying was a shock for her.”

Roger nodded. “I can imagine,” he said softly. He rose from his seat and walked around the table, opening his arms to Reggie, who stood up too. They hugged fiercely. “I’m so glad you found me,” he said. 

Freddie moved over to them too and put his arms around both of them. They held each other close for a moment before breaking apart and resuming their seats with shy little smiles. 

“How did you find him?” Freddie wondered. 

“When I arrived in London I went to the records building where you can check census records and birth, marriage and death records. I figured you’d have been sent to live with a relative – I could vaguely remember some elderly aunts visiting us. It took a while but I found a census record of you living with great-aunt Ethel. I went to the town you’d lived in and one of the neighbours directed me to the man who used to do the garden and he said you still sent him a Christmas card every year so he had an address for you,” Reggie explained. “And when I saw you...” He sighed. “I had intended to introduce myself straight away. But you were entering this building with Freddie when I first saw you and...I wasn’t expecting anyone else... I suppose that was stupid of me, really...And I felt...I’m not sure if shy is the right word but...”

Roger took a deep breath. “Are you...?” He gestured towards Freddie. “Our relationship is...Some people don’t approve...”

Reggie looked appalled. “It doesn’t bother me at all,” he said firmly, “as long as you’re happy, Roggie.”

“I am, very,” Roger assured him.

“I just...I’d thought it would just be us...But it wasn’t going to be and I...” Reggie shrugged. “I’m sorry for messing that up.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Roger told him, “all that matters is that you’re here, now.”

*

Later, once Reggie had left, Roger snuggled against Freddie in bed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about my family before,” he murmured. 

“You don’t have to apologise for that,” Freddie said. 

“I’d spent so much of my life blocking them out that...I didn’t have the words I suppose. And I didn’t think I’d ever see them again – Ethel had employed a private investigator at one point but they couldn’t find a trace of them either,” Roger said. “I had no idea where to start looking.”

“You don’t need to apologise or explain yourself to me,” Freddie told him, “I’m just glad that you’ve found your siblings again.”

“It’s weird,” Roger told him, as Freddie gently stroked his hair, “Part of me feels very at ease with Reggie like we’re picking up where we left off but every now and then I’m reminded I don’t really know him at all.”

Freddie held Roger tightly. “You’ve got the rest of your lives to get to know each other again,” he told Roger.

“Yes,” Roger agreed, “And Clare,” he said, “She was just a baby when they left. I’m so looking forward to seeing what she’s like now.” He wriggled a little in Freddie’s arms. “What if...?”

“She’ll love you,” Freddie told him firmly. “And I’ll be right there with you every step of the way, okay?”

“Thanks,” Roger mumbled, his voice muffled as his face was pressed against Freddie’s shoulder. “I love you,” he added. 

“I’m quite fond of you, too,” Freddie told him. “You’re a better kisser than your brother,” he added.

Roger raised his head and grinned. “Thanks,” he laughed, “I’m not thrilled that you know that but thanks!”

“I think he might be marginally better looking though,” Freddie mused, shrieking as Roger tickled him. “Stop that!”

“We’re identical twins!” Roger snorted, his voice bubbling with amusement. “Plus he now has a really weird accent.” 

“And doesn’t drink tea,” Freddie noted, “I think I definitely got the best brother.”

“Good,” Roger snuggled against Freddie again, “because you’re stuck with me.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Freddie assured him.


End file.
